


Ch. 3 "Revelation"

by Mooninscorpio



Series: Past Present & Future: John Reese [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:49:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1792747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mooninscorpio/pseuds/Mooninscorpio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During their first reunion after the events of "Deus Ex Machina", Harold has told John about the status of the Team members and after inquiring about how he has been holding up the past several months, John gives him the short, simple answer. However, Harold's answer reveals much more, and this first reunion leads to another quite different one soon afterwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ch. 3 "Revelation"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blue-Finch and Stormcat](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Blue-Finch+and+Stormcat).



Ch. 3 "Revelation"

John's eyes fell on Finch's hooded jacket, a nondescript brown, so much a far cry from his finely tailored suits during his life as Harold Finch. Now, in public, his dress had become an unknown man's wardrobe. Just as he himself had traded in his military uniforms for the "Suit", and now the "work uniform" of a courier. They were as normal as the Walmart greeter now, he thought ruefully. "I spend most of my time now close to home, after my night shift, trying to sleep…" his voice trailed off, leaving his private thoughts unspoken. He noticed that Harold's eyes were both bloodshot and dark from lack of sleep also. He still looked as if he carried the weight of nameless people's souls on his shoulders. John stepped closer and touched Harold's arm very slightly, searching his face for a sliver of concern for him, John, an ordinary man, not John the Asset, or John the loyal watchdog, as Root used to call him disparagingly, or John the Baptist for that matter. He added , "In a way I don't have to think about keeping my head down too much, I was a spy Harold, remember? we're good at blending in wherever and whatever we are."

Harold heard his smooth words, but he knew the man inside, who had changed ever since Joss died in the line of fire, that fateful terrible night.  
He also knew that this new normal way of life, imposed by Samaritan's ever present cyber eye, would never completely eradicate John's true nature: the nature he'd nearly lost in serving his country. He knew that John's sleepless nights and circles under his gray-blue eyes were the same sleepless nights he himself suffered, thinking about Grace in Italy, and his persistent worry for her safety, under her new alias, working as an illustrator at the commercial graphic arts firm he'd arranged for her himself, in Florence. His bleary eyed nights reading some of his recovered rare books from the Library, only hid the fact that he was really missing John's hovering presence, always quietly alert for any signs of discovery of them in their beloved dusty Library. John's strong forearms as he helped him bathe Bear, John during a stakeout, turning down the volume on the CD player in his town car, whenever he played "La Traviata, John lying in a semi-coma, from major blood loss, on the twin sized cot in the makeshift "hospital" room at the safe house, after his near-fatal shooting spree to avenge Joss' murder. Yet, most of all, recalling the sight of John sobbing uncontrollably, over Joss" body as she died in his arms, that unspeakably tragic night that Simmons shot both he and Joss. A shock in itself, seeing him thus, an ex-CIA black ops, completely undone by the death of a moral, good person "the world couldn't afford to lose" as John mentioned so many times to him in the past. Harold remembered the sharpest stabbing of grief in his own soul, as he stood at her gravesite watching Joss' son Taylor and her ex-husband sitting tall and huddled together in grief, as the eulogy took place.

All these memories flashed in an instant, as he gazed at John now, and with greater sadness, he realized John had no one who could have saved Joss, and it was his fault, because in his stubborn refusal to utilize the Machine, he didn't ask Root for help in finding Joss and John, resulting in Joss" death, and the near-death of the detective, Fusco.

His voice cracked, as he looked deeply into John's solemn face. "I know you're good at that, you were my best---better than Dillinger  
before you." His eyes watered hotly, now, his memories of that cold, frigid night, when he had to bury the unfortunate mercenary after he was shot by the Chinese mercenaries, who stole the laptop and its precious encoded information. He couldn't tell him the truth about that blotted out incident, not tonight, not in this dark and unlikely Chinese warehouse, with cans of foodstuffs crowding the room's dark shelves. It would have to be someplace else. His home, if he dared let him follow him there. If he dared give him the address and hope he'd act on it, and find him on his own, back his life again, not as an employee, but now, as the most trusted person he had left in his life. For John had declared months back, that he didn't trust the Machine, but he trusted him, Harold.

"John,-" he fought for words, "John, it's very dangerous to ask this of you now. It's not even a year since Samaritan gained full access to the government feeds." John's eyes widened as Harold hand lingered on his arm. "Yet, maybe as we are forced by circumstances to live as ordinary, normal people, I had hoped it might be possible if you would --" he blushed, looking down suddenly, "come to my house very discreetly, --- for some tea" Harold finished with that emphatic tone in his voice. John"s facial expression changed from utter surprise, shock and then, understanding the full impact of Harold's request. He reached out tentatively touching Harold's shoulder, ever so lightly, and said in his most disarming John Reese persona, "Harold, I thought you'd never ask. Shall i bring the boilermakers?"

 

The following Saturday evening: John hurried out of the shower, happier than he'd been in months, began to dress to go out to Harold's. Twilight came prematurely these days, as shoppers in his neighborhood made their way home from early Christmas shopping. John had no family, no connections, except this genius billionaire who literally plucked him off the homeless suicidal track he was boring through, three and a half years ago. Harold had saved him innumerable times, had risked his life bravely to save him from discovery and certain capture and death at the hands of Mark Snow and the CIA's underbelly. He saved him from his darker self, when he wanted to pull the trigger on Quinn. He picked out a steel blue shirt and jeans, and holding a bag of boilermaker ingredients to intoxicate both with in a few hours, he flagged a taxi two blocks away and headed to the West Side, near Lincoln Center & 66th St. John found the 4-story apartment, nestled between a smoothie parlor and an old DVD rental shop. Everywhere else, showcased high end designer shops and cafes for the after-concert browsers. He swiftly climbed the steps and found Harold's apartment, 4C, just like his own, John noticed with sudden recognition.

Ha rang twice, and heard the peephole click open, then the door and John saw Harold, dressed in a simple striped shirt, vest and khakis, his hair spiked just the way the "old" Harold wore it. John's heart warmed at the sight of the familiar hairstyle, the faint aroma of Italian cuisine filled the small apartment. Harold quickly ushered him in and the first thing John saw were the shelves of old books, just like a miniature replica of the Library, and also, that there was no laptop, PC, not even an iPad. He knew why and didn't bring it up. Instead, he removed his thick parka and hood. Harold, always pleasantly surprised whenever John dressed down, gazed now at every inch of John's still-muscular body, noting mentally that he was thinner, saw how the shirt definitely enhanced his eyes. John's eyes took in Harold's chest underneath his open shirt, saw the tufts of hair, in stark contrast to his hairless, intellectual face. "We're normal ordinary men now, free to do this, forced to live normal ordinary lives yet, free, free to move to something else" Harold's voice became suddenly intimate. John's thoughts raced ahead of his motions as time stood still in the foyer, his jacket still dangling in his hand. Harold took it, and then an electricity flowed from his hand to John's, the nearness of John suddenly rendered him speechless, the scent of John's cologne, a light woodsy note, John's beautiful hands brushing against his. Harold took his arm wordlessly, and led him into his small bedroom. John only glanced at the modest furnishings, his eyes only on Harold now. John had experienced seduction and sexual encounters overseas, female and male, in Morocco, Tikrit, Turkey, even during his harrowing escape from Ordos back to the U.S. This tonight, was not seduction and sex, CIA style to get to your intel source. Not an encounter he would have to compartmentalize in a locked door in his brain with a sign in bold print, "Destroy all Memories". This was Harold, his once-employer, who became more than that over time. Now, as ordinary citizens, this new Harold was taking him to his bedroom and sitting down together, Harold suddenly became serious. as he looked at him seriously, pausing before asking him the crucial question, "John, do you want this? " John closed his eyes for a brief moment, then nodded, gazing directly into Harold's eyes, as his hand reached up to Harold's check, his hand trembled, as if waiting for rejection. Gazing into Harold's clear blue eyes, he was at a loss for words. He was a man of action, not of words, as Harold so effortlessly was. And now Harold finally trusted him as a man and lover. There were no more lines anymore.

"Yes, I want this --I want you. " John said in a voice that didn't quite belong to him. " I've wanted you for so long, but I didn't feel I deserved you. Being who I was before. Thinking all I was to you was someone you gave a job to. " Lifting up his hand in protest, Harold shook his head forcefully, "No John, I knew you even before I saw you that day after my bodyguards picked you up at the precinct. I had been watching you for a long time, you came to the Machine's attention, first as a threat, then, as an asset, and I listened to you on my cellphone, when instead of killing Casey, you let him go free and lied to Stanton about it. I wanted you then, as an Asset a very valuable one, with the right skills, that I sorely lacked in dying to save the Numbers. But also someone with the right morals, not to kill indiscriminately, someone with a conscience, not --- like -----Dillinger", he paused, inexplicably morose. He looked up again at John, "and then over time, you changed me John, I began to trust you --- and others you brought along with you to help us with saving the Numbers. And each time you were taken from me, I realized, I couldn't afford to lose you John. Even after Joss, and those dark days when you disappeared." John looked away biting his lip, trying to control his emotions. He suddenly looked Harold in the eye and asked him in a bare whisper, "Harold, I know you still love Grace, and I saved her for you, because you love her." He looked down at his hands "but --- what place do I have? I don't want to be your second choice Harold, I don't' want to take her place, and I don't want to compete with her in your mind." Harold's heart ached then, for this man who lost everyone he'd ever loved, and now, on the verge of this precipice, John simply wanted to know if he really loved him.

Harold couldn't speak - he only went by instinct. He held him, his arms, for the first time around his younger partner's shoulders. John heard Harold's voice whisper against his neck, "Grace is gone from me forever because I traded her life for mine." His face was pained, yet resigned. He looked at John's beautiful solemn eyes and confessed, I love you John, only you." He bent his head down on Harold's shoulder then. A vision of his long gone father flashed across his mind. A floodgate opened inside John, as tears welled up in his eyes. He hadn't heard those words in so long, not since his parents died, when he was a young boy, not since Jessica, a lifetime ago. If there was such a thing as redemption for someone like him, Harold was his redeemer and savior. John took Harold's frail, crooked neck in his big hands, and kissed him with every fiber of his being. He felt Harold's hands in his hair, as John continued kissing him, too overwhelmed by these new emotions to even speak . They pulled each other down onto the solitary bed, embracing each other as if in an instant, they would be lost to one another for good.

Their first moments together were surreal, as lovers, after such a dramatic and perilous three and a half years together. Harold felt his body stirring with force as John's hands touched him everywhere. The hurried sounds of their clothes scattering onto the floor, the first kisses, only on lips, mingled with words of newly declared love, and the magnificent sight of John's bare chest and muscular arms, as he knelt above him, and the feel of John's knees pressed against his ribs, and then Harold's nimble fingers undoing buttons and zippers, hands at last seeking and finding. Heat and hardness rose in John like hot chocolate on a knife, and increased even more while hearing Harold's confessions of love at first sight, years before finally meeting him in person. John's own confessions, as his hands worked their way down Harold's damaged spine. John was amazed at the force of Harold's passion, despite his frailty. He felt surges of love and gratitude for all the times Harold had saved him from death. He was never one for words, only actions, so he showed Harold his love by actions. Harold was dazed with passion as John showed him with his body what he could do for him. Minutes later, bodies locked in a rhythmic embrace, John's beautiful eyelashes shut tightly, as he gasped Harold's name repeatedly as his entire body spasmed and Harold, arching upwards in complete surrender and trust, as John loved him with the ultimate act and in that moment of surrender, John was finally at peace and silently vowed that he would protect Harold until his last dying breath.


End file.
